


An Eleven-Step Guide to Survival by Prince Meredith (ed. John Sheppard)

by theravenwrites



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 20:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theravenwrites/pseuds/theravenwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fusion between Stargate: Atlantis and Garth Nix's Abhorsen trilogy - Rodney is the brother of the future Abhorsen, Teyla, and the heir to the throne, Jeannie. He's at a bit of a loss as to what he wants to do for the rest of his life when he meets John, a pilot who's plane crash-landed in the Old Kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Eleven-Step Guide to Survival by Prince Meredith (ed. John Sheppard)

**Step One: Have Some Sort of Plan**

It wasn’t really running away, Rodney told himself, if he was going to somewhere. Eventually. Running away implied that he had no destination in mind. But he did! If he could ever get there. It was typical of Rodney’s luck that a short jaunt south would turn into some type of fiasco.

Rodney sighed and resettled himself into a slightly more comfortable position, his knees drawn up before him and his arms around them. He tried to hide his nose between his knees, but that made his back ache. 

“Of course this happens to me,” he grumbled to himself, straightening. “When Teyla ran away she met Ronon and has never spent a cold night alone since, and when Jeannie ran away it was summer. And when I run away—not that I ran away! I ran to—it’s summer and I’m still cold!”

Rodney glowered, his eyes glaring at each individual aspect of the landscape. The light of a solitary Charter mark hanging slightly over his head made his eyes glitter. The mark also cast a warm glow on the tiny mound of sand he was sitting on and danced merrily across the wavelets that flashed by on the stream surrounding Rodney’s tiny island.

Past that, it was completely dark. Unfortunately, that had the odd effect of amplifying the rustling sounds the Dead made whenever they shifted about. Rodney didn’t know how many of them were out there, but it sounded like a lot, and the night stretched interminably on. At least it had stopped raining.

He fingered the embroidery of the surcoat he wore tightly wrapped around himself. The repeated design was of the Royal crest quartered with the Wallmaker’s trowel. The sendings at the Abhorsen’s house had set it out for him when he’d stopped by there on his way South. It was the only sign he’d been given to make himself feel at all legitimate. A small part of his vast intellect suggested that he could show this to his mother as proof he should be allowed to do as he wished, but the larger, more egotistical part suggested the smaller part shut up.

Rodney couldn’t help thinking that if only his family had been a bit more accommodating, he wouldn’t be in this situation. But his mum would go on about being less abrasive and more diplomatic, and would only let him get some serous research done in his lab when he was in good graces with her, which was never, and Teyla hardly ever came around any more, but when she did, it was with her behemoth of a boyfriend, who always looked like he wanted to eat Rodney, and of course Jeannie’d always been hopeless, forever running after their mum and being a good girl on the surface, just to get Rodney in trouble.

So, it was their fault that he’d left. Honestly, he’d had no choice. Ancelstierre was the only place where he would be able to do what he wanted, which was to build things. Yes, the Charter would be harder to access, but he didn’t really need it. He was a genius at engineering as well as a gifted Charter Mage.

It was true that he didn’t really know what to expect in Ancelstierre or how he was going to accomplish everything, but he glossed over the details. He had some gold, and his name had influence, at least close to the Wall. He’d buy some remote manor house near Bain and set to work. He’d been there for school, like his sisters, but hadn’t managed to graduate with his class, unlike them. Some might say it had been strongly suggested he remove himself from Ancelstierre, but Rodney preferred to think that he’d realized his potential could be better reached home in the Old Kingdom. That is, until his mother had put a stop to his experiments, too. Rodney felt rather persecuted, really.

While Rodney was thinking about how wonderful his life was going to be in Ancelstierre, he fell into a light doze. He was imagining the many accolades and awards he was certain to be awarded and even managed to forget the Dead lurking nearby, if not his physical discomfort.

A thundering noise broke Rodney’s reverie. Startled, he jumped about a mile and looked around frantically. A high-pitched whine had been added, and the whole cacophony was getting louder. When Rodney looked up, he saw a large flaming object roar over him, descending into the woods to his left.

When the object hit the trees, there was a loud crack, followed by a small explosion. A column of fire lit by smoke swiftly rose. Rodney’s felt the Dead begin to move towards the crash site.

Rodney debated with himself over whether to leave his island or not. If the Dead were attracted to the crash, then somehow a person had been in that… thing, whatever it was, but whether or not they had survived the crash was debate-able. Rodney wasn’t certain he was close enough to feel their death or not. And even if they’d survived the crash, a lot of Dead Hands that had just run over there, making it quite dangerous. But on the other hand, Rodney was a Prince, making it his duty to help people (which Rodney thought was ludicrous, but that’s the subject for another debate).

“Why can’t this be happening to Teyla?” Rodney whined, but he knew his mind was already made up, He had to go save whoever this was or he’d never hear the end of it from Teyla, Jeannie or his mum, and they were sure to find out somehow.

**Step Two: Never Run Into Dead Infested Woods At Night**

Still grumbling to himself, Rodney broke his diamond of protection and waded to the shore. He had managed to dry until he was just damp instead of sopping, but now everything below his knees were soaked again. Rodney just knew he was going to get awful chafing horrible blisters.

The crash site was fairly close, and Rodney was able to catch up with the Dead Hands just as they were reaching it. He knew immediately that whoever was in the wreckage was still alive. The Hands were shambling along as fast as they could, but even Rodney’s infrequent level of physical activity was enough to let him catch up with ease.

Drawing his sword, he plunged it into the back of the nearest Hand, the Charter marks flaring briefly as the thing gurgled and was forced back into Death. He had spelled this sword himself so that it could force most of the lesser Dead to release their hold on the flesh housing them in life. Because Rodney was a genius, he was able to hack away with his right hand and call on the Charter with his left, charging through the Dead Hands to get between them and the crash site.

Some of the Dead retreated, sensing Rodney’s power as a Charter mage, but the stupider ones, well, actually, they were all so stupid one could hardly distinguish, but either way there were some that stayed and tried to fight. Rodney grit his teeth and continued destroying the rotting flesh that housed the Dead spirits. 

Soon there were no more Dead Hands in his immediate vicinity, although he could still feel a few skulking about nearby. Rodney turned to the wreckage and began pulling marks of protection and healing from the Charter as he pushed scraps of metal aside to find the poor sod trapped inside. Even in the dark he could see that the machine was Ancelsterrian in design, which had probably led to its crash this side of the Wall, as nothing machine-made could last in the Old Kingdom. He had never seen one before, but he believed it to be an aeroplane, the Ancelsterrian answer to the Paperwing.

Covered in soot and knocked unconscious, the pilot was surprisingly young, with shaggy brown hair. When Rodney carefully pulled him out, he was so light that he ended up overcompensating and staggering backwards. 

Laying the pilot on the ground, Rodney carefully looked him over to see if any of his wounds were serious enough to prevent moving him back to the stream. Pulling open his uniform, Rodney was shocked at how skinny he was. Everyone always complained that Rodney was too skinny by half, but this boy was even worse. His ribs were outlined with each shallow breath he took, and the bones in his face were starkly visible.

Luckily, most of his injuries seemed to be superficial, with the exception of one broken arm and a large bruise on his forehead that could mean a concussion. Cautiously, Rodney lifted the boy into a fireman’s carry and reeled around to go back to his island.

The Dead Hands were following, but they kept their distance, still cautious from Rodney’s earlier display. Rodney walked as fast as he could anyway, nervous that they would decide he was no longer a threat, incapacitated as he was with the pilot slung over his shoulders.

He made it to the stream without incident and, gritting his teeth, crossed again, shivering as the cold water leeched all the warmth from his legs. Then he was on the tiny island and lowering the pilot as gently as he could into the sand.

Too tired to cast a diamond of protection, Rodney used his last reserves to set the boy’s right arm with what Teyla called a “good-enough” healing spell. Shivering, he drew a Charter mark for warmth and collapsed next to the pilot’s still-prone body. Their reduced number and the swiftness of the moving water would have to do to keep the Dead at bay for the remainder of the night.

**Step Three: Always Retain Control in Hostage Situations**

The next morning, or rather, the next noon, Rodney slowly woke up. At first he tried only to get back to sleep, but the bright sunshine (and the sand where the sun wasn’t shining), made that impossible. Groaning, he pushed himself up and shook sand out of his unruly blonde hair. 

The pilot was lying in almost the exact position as when Rodney had set him down. He was breathing deeply and seemed stable. Rodney regarded him with a scowl on his face, wondering what he should do. 

The soot and some dried blood made it hard to see the pilot’s exact features, but Rodney could see that he was young and skinny, with a straight nose and full lips. He would be quite pretty when he was washed up. He also, Rodney noted with interest, had a Charter mark on his forehead.

Looking for identification and further injuries, Rodney carefully opened the flying jacket the pilot had on. The Ancelsterrian material was already starting to disintegrate. Underneath, the pilot was wearing only a thin black t-shirt, which surprised Rodney somewhat. He should have been wearing an Ancelsterrian Air Force uniform.

The flying jacket had pockets though, and Rodney was soon completely absorbed in perusing them. In the left pocket, he found a wad of cash, which was beginning to fall apart, too. On the right side, there was a bundle of letters, and Rodney peeked at the one on top. It was official looking, and Rodney only read a few lines before he put it back, feeling ashamed of himself. The letter was one informing a Mr. John Sheppard of his dishonorable discharge from the Ancelsterrian Air Force.

Rodney stuffed the cash and the letters back in their respective pockets, and rocked back on his heels, thinking. John had clearly stolen the plane he had so recently crashed, and was therefore probably considered an illegal immigrant. Rodney should clap him in irons and take him to… whoever handled these things. Jeannie would know what to do if she were here. Rodney stopped that thought in its tracks. He didn’t need to keep reminding himself of his own inadequacy in any given situation.

The fact remained that John was injured and it wasn’t like Rodney had anyone to turn him over to. They were pretty much in the middle of nowhere, about a days walk in any direction from any kind of civilization. And Rodney was headed towards Ancelstierre anyway; he could just bring John back with him. He supposed that at the Wall they were prepared to deal with this sort of thing.

Satisfied that he had a plan, Rodney moved away from the still-sleeping John Sheppard and went to wash in the stream before making breakfast (really lunch). The pilot didn’t wake up until Rodney had eaten (cold sausages and bread), and when he did, it surprised Rodney so much that he almost fell into the water.

John gave a loud gasp as he struggled upright, looking around with wide eyes. Rodney shrieked and lost his grip on the plate he had just finished washing. Fumbling for it, he slipped in the wet sand and landed in an awkward half crouch, nose inches from the ground and knee inches from the cold water.

John was looking blearily around, clearly dizzy. He looked at his arm for a long moment, confused at the rudimentary cast. Carefully he moved is arm around, feeling along it with his other hand. His only reaction was a sharp intake of breath before he left it lying in his lap and tried to focus on Rodney.

Throughout this, Rodney had remained frozen, even though his legs quickly started to ache. Somehow he had never really considered what he would do when John woke up. 

“Er…” he said, looking up at John through his bangs.

“What the hell happened?” asked John guardedly.

“You crashed,” began Rodney. “And then the Dead were after you and I got you out and brought you back here. I’m Pri—Mer—Rodney, eh, McKay.”

“So I take it I’m in the Old Kingdom?” 

Rodney was a little surprised John hadn’t scoffed at him when he mentioned the Dead. Most Ancelsterrians gave no credit to the stories that seeped south about Dead people walking or Charter magic, but he remembered John had a Charter mark. He must have some rudimentary knowledge of the Old Kingdom.

Belatedly Rodney nodded, and when John made no further comment, he pushed himself up and walked up the slight rise to stand next to John and his pack. Standing awkwardly above John, Rodney fiddled with the plate in his hands, only briefly meeting John’s eyes.

“Are you hungry?” he finally asked, and John nodded, his face still expressionless but his eyes newly interested. “Just… sit there and I’ll get you some sausage. And bread. Do you like sausage and bread? It’s immaterial whether you like it or not because that’s all I have, and when you’re injured and clearly malnourished like you are, you need to eat a lot to keep your strength up.”

“I’m not malnourished,” John broke in. Rodney snapped his mouth shut, belatedly realizing he’d been babbling. Sneaking a look at John from the corner of his eye as he bent to get the food back out, he saw the corner of John’s mouth lift in a small smile. Rodney felt his cheeks heat up and quickly busied himself again getting food.

John ate like he was ravenous and Rodney made a mental note never to believe John when it came to the state of his health. John had even tried at first to eat with his right hand, which anyone with half a brain would have known was a bad idea. Rodney rolled his eyes and wondered if John could possibly be insane.

After he ate, John walked to the water and attempted to clean the soot as well as he could off of himself. He quickly grew frustrated with the limitations having only one working hand presented. Rodney hung back, pretty sure that his help would not be appreciated, but also concerned that John would hurt himself more in his irritation.

Rodney pretended to be busy packing up when John finally returned, very wet and face set in grim lines. His hair was plastered to his forehead and his open jacket and the shirt beneath were almost completely soaked. Rodney looked away from the shadow of defined abs he could see though the now mostly see-through material.

“I need to get back to my plane,” John said, looking down at Rodney.

“Er, I’m not so sure that’s a great idea,” began Rodney, standing up. He ended up standing uncomfortably close to John and took a step back hurriedly.

“All my stuff’s there, and some of it, at least, should have survived. You don’t have the supplies to support two people, let alone one. Besides, I need to be on my way.”

“Well, that may be true about the state of my supplies, but you aren’t going anywhere by yourself. You’re an illegal immigrant and you’re coming with me back to the Wall. 

“Also, you don’t seem to realize the danger the Dead pose to you. In the first place, you’re injured, and in the second, you’re from Ancelstierre, you’re not prepared to fight them,” Rodney drew in another breath to continue his tirade but John interrupted him.

Pushing his hair off his forehead, he said, “I have a Charter mark.”

Rodney rolled his eyes extravagantly. “Oh, that’ll save you for sure. The Dead will go straight back to Death at the sight of it.”

“I know some Charter magic,” John said obstinately.

Stubbornly, Rodney lifted his chin. “I can guarantee you aren’t as well trained as I am. I’m a genius, you know. And even if you think you could beat me up while injured, Charter magic will protect me. So basically you’d better do what I say.”

John lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not going back to Ancelstierre.”

“Yes, yes you are. Stop arguing with me. I’m always right.” Turning away from John, Rodney felt triumph, or something like it, flush his cheeks as he bent to shoulder his pack.

John seemed content to bide his time as he followed Rodney back to his plane. The woods seemed much less sinister in the bright noon light, although the crash was even more brutal when Rodney could see the wreckage in detail. The plane was reduced to a twisted pile of metal and the smashed trees nearby were blackened by smoke and their leaves burnt to crisps.

Rodney hung back, wondering all over again how John survived. John walked carefully forward, stepping over miscellaneous scraps, his gait off-balance from the way he had his arm tucked in to his stomach.

John tried to get to his cockpit, but with only one hand, he wasn’t making much progress. Grimacing, he tried to grasp a loose piece of metal with both hands, but the pain made him gasp.

Rodney crashed over quickly and immediately began berating John. “You idiot, how is your arm going to heal if you keep using it? It’s called asking for help, I’m sure you’ve heard about it. Or are you too manly to admit your pain?”

“Shut up, Rodney, and help me then,” John said irritably.

Rodney continued to mutter under his breath as he pulled metal that was still warm to the touch away to reveal the cockpit. The plane must have collapsed in on itself after he’d pulled John out because the cockpit was buried and almost unidentifiable when they did uncover it.

Rodney stepped back as John reached around the charred remains of his seat and pulled a mostly intact rucksack out. Out of the corner of his eyes, Rodney could see a few simple Charter marks for protection swimming under the surface. The work was plain but competent. Rodney made a metal note to remember that John could, in fact, do some Charter magic, although he was still nothing compared to himself. 

John was squatting, rooting through his rucksack, checking his possessions for damage. He chucked a few objects that were burnt beyond recognition over his shoulder. Then he stood, slinging the rucksack over the shoulder of his uninjured arm. Rodney stood next to him, feeling forgotten as he took one last look at his plane. His expression was closed off and Rodney felt like he was watching something very private.

Finally he turned to look at Rodney. Rodney met his eyes, feeling his cheeks flush again. There was something about John’s steady gaze and almost-mocking expression that made him uncomfortable. Rodney broke the eye contact first, and stared instead at John’s hair. It had dried to an almost porcupine-esque style, sticking up in all directions.

Smirking slightly, John said, “See you, then, Rodney.”

**Step Four: A Gentleman Never Attacks When His Opponent’s Back is Turned**

As John turned away, not waiting for an answer, Rodney gathered his wits about him and drew on the Charter. As he found the marks he needed, he cast them at John. The marks formed a golden rope that flowed into John’s back, the other end streaming from Rodney’s outstretched hand. The chain of marks glowed brighter for a moment, and then disappeared. The Charter spell would make it so that John couldn’t be more than two yards from Rodney.

John stopped, immediately trying to shrug the spell off, even as he turned to face Rodney, a furious expression on his face. 

Tilting his chin up, Rodney said, “I told you I was taking you to the Wall.”

“Take this off of me right now,” growled John.

“No, no, I don’t think I will. We’re going to the Wall. I can get you back to Ancelstierre with no penalties; I’ll tell them that it was a storm that blew you over here. But you have to go back, whether you want to or not.”

John scowled and attempted to take the rope off with Charter magic, but Rodney’s work wouldn’t be undone. 

“Come on, we need to get back to the stream so we can make another good island before dark. Don’t worry; it’s only about a day and a half’s walk to the next village where we can hire horses. And after that, it’ll only be about a two day’s ride to the Wall, and then you can go home.”

Rodney continued to talk in this manner as they walked back to the stream, and then along the path beside it. John walked sullenly behind him, never saying a word. This made Rodney nervous, which made him talk more. Added to that was the fact that he could feel a couple Dead Hands still in the forest. They weren’t moving, still hiding form the sun’s rays under logs and in burrows, but the very fact that they were there disturbed him. 

Dead creatures were always a problem in the Old Kingdom, but mostly they were just pests. There were necromancers who popped up now and again, but the Royal Family was strong enough that the Kingdom was very peaceful. Teyla had been known to complain that there wasn’t enough for her to do.

But this many Dead Hands in one place wasn’t normal at all. It was a sure sign of a necromancer nearby, and a moderately powerful one, at the very least. It took a lot to control many Dead, and it was highly possible that the necromancer wasn’t even showing his full strength.

“...And I don’t care how good you think you are at Charter magic, but I’m much better. It’s because, as I have told you, I am a genius. I’m the strongest Charter mage there is—“

“Do you ever _shut up?_ ” 

**Step Five: Maintaining Positive Relationships is Essential**

Rodney ended up setting up camp all by himself that night. John sat sullenly in the middle of the island they had found and refused to move. After yelling at Rodney to shut up, John had lapsed again into a stony silence. Rodney had continued talking, but at a lower volume and instead discoursing on ungrateful people who didn’t realize when their asses were being saved.

After completing the diamond of protection, Rodney threw himself onto the ground next to John and began tearing into a hunk of bread and cheese. He offered some to John, but the pilot turned his back and lay down. 

Rodney rolled his eyes and drank some water before lying down himself. It was no skin off his nose if John went to bed hungry. Although it wouldn’t help his arm heal. He considered poking John in the shoulder to ask him if he was aware of that fact, but decided against it on the off chance that if John could possibly hate him more, that was a perfect way to get him to do it.

In the middle of the night, Rodney became aware of movement next to him. Slowly coming out of the dredges of a dream about enchanted shovels chasing him through Death, Rodney opened his eyes. John was sitting up next to him, bent over his injured arm. The flare of Charter marks illuminated his pained face.

Rodney pushed himself up on one arm and reached out with the other. He ignored the thought that he should have done this himself, earlier in the day. “Let me see that,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “Healing spells are tricky. It’s obvious you don’t have the experience to do it right. In fact, you’re probably just making it worse.”

Holding John’s arm, Rodney gathered the Charter marks he needed and let them soak into John’s skin. This wouldn’t heal John’s arm completely, but enough so that it wouldn’t bother him so badly nor be so fragile. 

John pulled his arm back and turned away, muttering a thanks. Rodney lay down and was almost instantly asleep. By morning, he barely remembered what had happened.

When he woke up, John was already awake, sitting hunched over with his back to Rodney. Rodney propped himself up on one elbow and regarded John in the early morning light.

Rodney immediately felt guilty. Here he was, running away himself, and he was stopping someone else from doing the same thing. John probably had his own very good reasons for leaving, and who was Rodney to make him go back? Rodney didn’t often stop to consider how his actions might make others feel, but now that he was, he felt, in a word, shitty.

“My dad died,” Rodney said, his voice sounding overloud.

John didn’t make any motion to signify whether he’d heard.

“Um. It was last year. He was doing some Charter magic, really advanced stuff, and it went wrong. My mum, she wouldn’t let me help him that day, I had some other, ah, duties to attend to. And so now she doesn’t like me to do any Charter magic at all, so I left.”

John lifted his head to look at Rodney out of the corner of his eye. His expression was still wary. Rodney swallowed loudly.

“Anyway, I just wanted to tell you, because I understand. About running away, I mean. Not that we have anything in common except that. But I’m sorry about making you stay with me, I usually abhor using any kind of force against another person, especially when that force is used against me, but I don’t think you understand the risks. 

“The Old Kingdom can be really dangerous, even for it’s own citizens, and you’re from Ancelstierre! It was pretty stupid to run away here, honestly. You’re not prepared at all. The Charter magic you learn on the border is child’s play, really. I went to school in Ancelstierre, for a little bit at least, and I…” Rodney trailed off, trying to stop his oral diarrhea.

“My mum was from the Old Kingdom,” John said finally, his voice expressionless.

“Oh, that’s great! Were you running away to her? Because it’s a great idea to have a destination in mind, when you run away. Mine’s Ancelstierre, actually. Bain, probably. Close enough to the Wall to use the Charter, but far enough away that your technology works—“

“My mum died when I was born.”

“Um. I’m, um, sorry. That sucks. I know that everyone’s grief is completely personal and everything, believe me, this shrink my mum hired after my dad died told me enough, but I do sympathize, I really do.”

“It’s okay, Rodney. I never knew her, so it’s not like I know what I’m missing or anything. That’s why I decided to come here. I thought it would have to be better than fucking Ancelstierre, but apparently I was wrong about that.”

They were silent for a couple moments, Rodney continuing to debate with himself over what to do with John. He should really just let him go his way, although he was so unprepared… But maybe Rodney could teach him, just a little? Just enough to set him on his feet, because clearly no one could ever comprehend the totality of what Rodney could, in terms of Charter magic.

**Step Six: Leaps Of Faith Are Scary But Always Worth It**

Not looking up to meet John’s eyes, Rodney sketched the Charter marks for release and cessation. There was a brief golden glow between John and Rodney. John looked up sharply.

“You’re free to go,” Rodney said. “But I hope you’ll let me show you to the next village. I mean, you know barely anything about Charter magic, and if you’re going to live here, you need to. Also, I don’t know how you’re planning on supporting yourself, I just feel like I should warn you that it’s not going to be easy—“

“Rodney,” John said. He nudged Rodney’s shoulder until he would look up at him. John was smiling, and Rodney quickly turned his answering smile into a scowl.

“What. I know it was awful of me to bind you to me, and a crime against your human rights, but really I only did it for your own safety. And, if I’m going to be honest, you did piss me off a little, acting like I was powerless—“

“Rodney,” John said again. “Thank you for proving to me that you’re actually a good person, despite being an insensitive asshole.”

“Oh, thanks, that’s an excellent compliment, I feel so honored.” Rodney rolled his eyes and tried to stop blushing at the earnest way John was looking at him.

“Come on, let’s get on to this village. You can catch me up on Charter magic as we walk.”

Rodney pretended to grumble as he allowed John to help him up, but it was all for show. He couldn’t exactly hide his blush. And anyway they could both feel the easing of that horrible tension between them. This allowed John to relax and realize he found Rodney entertaining, and Rodney could put aside his conflicting feelings of finding John ridiculously attractive and having complete control over him.

They spent the rest of the morning walking by the stream, Rodney drilling John on Charter magic. John knew more than Rodney had thought (although of course, of course, nowhere near Rodney’s level), and he learned fast, although he did have an annoying tendency to make faux-stupid remarks, just to get Rodney riled up.

“Look, for the last time, that’s impossible! And I know you know it’s impossible, so don’t act dumb!”

John just laughed.

They stopped for lunch, and inadvertently got into a splash fight. John plopped down at the bank of the stream and swung off his pack. Rodney dropped down beside him. They were chatting about nonsensicals, nothing really, as they got out the last crusts of bread and slightly moldy cheese.

“I bet this mold has somehow grown itself into a strain of citrus, just so it can kill me. Look at it! It’s eyeing me evilly!”

John smirked and plucked the cheese out of Rodney’s fingers. “I’ll just finish it off for you, if it’s so evil.”

“Hey! Give that back!” Rodney snatched at it, but he was too late, and John ate it in one bite, smirking all the while.

Rodney glared at him, and resorted to scooping up a handful of water and flinging it at him. John immediately went for his own ammunition and the fight escalated from there.

It wasn’t until they were lying next to each other on the bank, still laughing, and letting the sun dry their soaked clothes, that Rodney realized how far the sun had progressed through the sky.

**Step Seven: Plan Your Route to Ensure Safe Haven at Dark**

“Oh shit!” he exclaimed, scrambling to his feet.

“What?” asked John, getting to his feet more sedately, but still on guard. “What is it now?”

“We have to leave the stream to get to the village, but we’re going to have to really hurry if we’re going to get there before dark,” Rodney said breathlessly while hurriedly repacking his bag. John quickly followed suit.

They set off, walking fast. Rodney at first kept them beside the stream until he found the road, barely more than a path, which led to the village. John looked up at the sky, and frowned to see the sun marking late afternoon.

He knew by now that Rodney was an alarmist, but at the same time, he didn’t want to take any chances of meeting the Dead. He’d heard enough stories from soldiers on the perimeter about those creatures, and unlike most, he believed them. In the Air Force, he’d heard all about the thing that had come over the Wall so many years ago, when the Kingdom was still trying to rebuild itself, and everyone learned about the whole fiasco with the refugees in school, although probably not the whole story.

They were passing through woods at this point, and the trees blocked most of the sunlight, casting long shadows with bright strips of light. It would have been beautiful if John hadn’t had a pricking sensation, like he was being watched. He kept turning around swiftly, trying to catch whoever it was in the act.

“God, would you stop doing that?” complained Rodney from ahead. “You’re making my neck hurt just watching you. And hurry up, we don’t have time to look behind us.”

Rodney reached back to grab John’s sleeve and tugged him forward.

“I think there’s someone out there,” John confided to Rodney in a low tone.

Rodney looked up at John, his expression one of surprise. “You can feel them too?”

“What are you talking about, Rodney?”

“Look, I didn’t want to tell you, but now it seems like you already know, so there’s no point in my not explaining, except that I wouldn’t want to know if I was in your position, but I recognize that we are not the same person and you—“

“Would really like to know what the hell is going on.”

Rodney sighed, no longer meeting John’s eyes. John felt a little grateful for that, the intense blue gaze was disconcerting and made his stomach feel weird.

“Somehow you’ve inherited a sense of Death. It must have been from your mother, we must be really, really distantly related at some point, but anyway, the reason you’re so on edge is that you can sense the Dead Hands around us.”

John started at Rodney in shock, then at the forest surrounding them.

“Yeah…” Rodney said miserably. “There are a lot of them, and that can only mean the Necromancer’s not too far behind. So if you don’t mind, we’ll have to save your freak-out for later when we’re safe.”

With that, Rodney took off, now at more of a jog than a fast walk. John trotted to catch up. He cursed having a broken arm even more at this moment. If it came to a fight, and John was certain it would, unless that village was right around the bend, he wasn’t going to be much help.

The village, as it turned out, was not just around the bend.

Rodney was mumbling under his breath, “Shit, shit, shit, shit,” which John didn’t take as an encouraging sign. When Rodney tugged out his sword, John took it as a worse one and desperately wished for his gun. But of course, even if he’d had it, it would have been useless to him. It would have mysteriously stopped working once he crossed the wall, just like his plane. All he had at this point was some half-assed Charter magic, and not even both hands to wield it.

**Step Eight: Strategic Retreat Is A Completely Honorable Option**

Rodney’s breath quickened with the tension. The sunlight was nearly gone now, and it was dark enough that the strongest Dead Hands could safely come out from the deepest shadows where they were lurking. And behind them, he could dimly sense some even stronger Dead, and he knew that the Necromancer would be nearby.

“I can’t die! I’m too smart,” he exclaimed, turning wide eyes to John. “The world needs my genius! But this is hopeless, I mean, you only have one hand, and while you’re a fast learner you don’t know enough and so I have to protect you too and really, I’m just not a good enough swordsman for that, and then I’ll probably have to go in to Death to find the Necromancer—“

“ _What?_ ” asked John incredulously. “What do you mean, go in to Death?”

“Just what I said.” Rodney moaned wordlessly. “I wish Teyla were here, she could do this, I can’t, I’m really just a big coward and why the hell did I ever run away in the first place? Even Ronon would be helpful! I’m sure he eats Dead Hands for breakfast and keeps bits of them in his hair for snacks…”

“But what about _going in to Death?_ ” John half-shouted, shaking Rodney’s shoulder. It wasn’t that he’d suddenly grown to care for Rodney so much in such a short amount of time (he told himself), it was the idea itself that was freaking him out. He’d just learned he could sense the Dead, and now Rodney was going to die, or something.

“I don’t have time to explain the logistics at this second,” Rodney said huffily, taking repossession of his shoulder. “But don’t worry, I’m too chicken-shit to actually do it, but even if I did, it would just mean I was much more likely to die, not that I’d actually be dead.”

John wasn’t very reassured, but he didn’t have time to get more information out of Rodney, because at that moment, the Dead Hands approached from the trees. John couldn’t really be surprised at how quickly they were surrounded, because he’d been feeling how many of them there are, but the for-knowledge didn’t make him feel any better.

“Give me the sword,” John said softly over his left shoulder to Rodney. They’d moved back to back almost without thinking, and John was really glad that Rodney’d had some training, even though it was clear he wasn’t a natural.

“Your arm,” Rodney hissed back, but passed the sword along anyway.

Holding the sword was a strain on his not-completely-healed arm, but he did it anyway and felt considerably less useless. The Ancelsterrian Air Force considered swordsmanship completely obsolete, but he’d picked some up here and there, and it still felt more reliable than the Charter.

The Dead Hands advanced, and Rodney immediately sent a volley of bright marks out to them, frying up a good half. But there were more to take their place. On John’s side, one finally came close enough that he could reach it with the sword, and he sliced it easily in half. 

Almost instantly John could feel his forearm burning, but he ignored it and took a two-handed stance to ease the pressure a little. The Dead were crowding him now, and he knew, but could do nothing about, that they were slowly separating him from Rodney. There was something more powerful than the shambling creatures in front of them lurking further back in the woods.

There were just too many of them. John didn’t know too much about Necromancers, but he was wondering how this could be possible. It was around this time that John realized Rodney was chanting to himself as he blasted the Dead.

“I’m too smart to die, I’m too smart to die.”

John felt a small grin tug at his lips, and wondered how in so short a time he could feel so… comfortable with Rodney and find him so endearing. …In a highly arrogant and very strange way. He realized that he actually had a strong desire to live, himself, which was something he hadn’t really felt in a while. With renewed strength, John attacked the Dead, but couldn’t help hoping for some miracle, because really, hope was all well and good, but it didn’t negate the fact that they were probably going to die anyway.

**Step Nine: If All Else Fails, Pray For a Deus Ex Machina**

Rodney paused briefly in casting Charter marks when there was a roar from the woods in front of him. “Oh God, it’s a Mordicant, isn’t it? What the hell! We’re clearly going to die anyway, so why is a Mordicant necessary?”

“Rodney, shut up and concentrate,” John growled from somewhere behind him.

“It’s not like I could forget they’re here,” Rodney called back. “One’s gnawing on my ankle, it’s a pretty constant reminder.”

It seemed that Rodney’s suspicions were confirmed (not that John knew what a Mordicant was, except that it was Bad), when the Dead Hands began to press towards them with more urgency. Whatever it was behind them was driving them onwards. John was heaving in great gulps of air, and his right arm was shaking with fatigue. He really couldn’t last much longer. Even the light from the Charter marks cast by Rodney was dimmer.

“Rodney,” John called.

“What? “ Rodney snapped back. “I’m a little busy.”

“I just wanted to say, you know, thanks, and stuff.”

“For what?”

John scowled and decapitated a Dead Hand with extra force. Couldn’t Rodney tell how hard this was for him? “For saving my life and, eventually, letting me stay in the Old Kingdom.”

“And this is precisely why I didn’t want you too! But you’re welcome—huh.”

John wondered what Rodney was huh-ing about, but then found out for himself. There were no more Dead Hands. John turned around to find Rodney looking about warily.

“That’s either a very good thing, or a very bad thing,” Rodney mused. “I’m leaning towards very bad.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because Dead Hands run away when something big enough is behind them—“ Rodney broke off in a scream that had John stepping in front of him, trying to raise the sword.

A… thing was bounding through the woods towards them. It was monstrous, and John really, really, wholeheartedly wished he had someone to hide behind too. 

And then it spoke.

“Meredith! We found you!”

“Oh God,” Rodney moaned into John’s back. “It’s Ronon.”

“What’s a Ronon?” John whispered, eyeing the figure with a little more fear at Rodney’s response.

“Not what, but who.”

And then Ronon was upon them. With one hand he batted John aside and swept Rodney up. John struggled to get up, but put too much pressure on his right arm and ominously felt something pop.

“Rodney!” John called desperately.

“Get off of me, you great caveman!” Rodney yelled, among other things less complimentary. “Put me down!”

Laughing, Ronon did so. “I’m relieved to see you all right.”

“Well, I was, and I think you broke John, good going.” Rodney bent down to help John up.

“Who the hell is this?” John whispered.

“My sister’s pet.” Rodney said back, not bothering to lower his voice.

“I can still snap you in half,” the giant said amicably.

“Oh, I am always aware of that fact,” Rodney said wearily. “But you’ll just have to do it later. Where’s Teyla?”

“She’s in Death, but let me take you to Their Highnesses.”

“Er, I don’t know if John’s up to it, what with his broken arm and all…” Rodney protested weakly, waving his hands about as if to explain why he just couldn’t possibly.

Ignoring him, Ronon picked John up easily, eliciting a squawk that he would forever deny, and walked back the way he came. Rodney followed, his hands moving in fidgety motions.

“Hey, hey, I can walk, put me down,” John protested.

“No.”

“John, as much as I know you like to assert your independence, Ronon only responds to brute strength, and you couldn’t beat him on your best day.”

“He’s right.”

**Step Ten: Return to the Bosom of Your Family**  
John began to protest some more, but they’d reached a clearing, and if he twisted his neck he could see that the village was at the other end of it. They had been so close, but it looked like they were saved now, anyway.

“Meredith!” two female voices screeched. John was pleased to note that Ronon flinched too. But John couldn’t help but wonder why everyone kept saying Meredith, when there was only him and Rodney around. Maybe it was a cultural thing?

Ronon stopped walking, and gently set John down on his feet. He was standing in front of two women. They were both wearing stately dresses that were looking a little worse for wear, and their hair was mostly undone from whatever style it had started out in. The older one was thin with dark red hair, and the younger looked remarkably like Rodney, with the same blonde hair, but curvy where Rodney had yet to grow into his body. 

There was a third woman standing to one side, dressed in leathers with a sword held out in front of her in one hand, and a bell in the other. She was covered in frost, and was surrounded by what John recognized as a Diamond of Protection. Ronon walked over almost immediately and took up a guard stance next to her.

They were in turn standing before three… well, they looked like paper airplanes, and John was in love. They were magnificently painted to have fierce eagle faces, with bright yellow eyes. If he squinted, he could see the complex Charter marks running through them. John thought he would probably explode from happiness if he could just ride in one. They were so much better than anything the Ancelsterrian Air Force could dream of having.

While John was having inappropriate thoughts about the Paperwings, Rodney was trying unsuccessfully to hide behind him. Seeing the crazed look in the women’s eyes, John quickly stepped aside.

Elizabeth and Jeannie were running forward, almost tripping over their dresses. Rodney braced himself for the assault. When they slammed into him, he managed to stay standing by sheer force of will. They were both crying into his shoulders and Rodney had no idea how to react. He should be comforting. Back patting was usually acceptable at these moments, right?

“Er, I’m all right, really—“

“How could you?” Elizabeth said, pulling back enough to look Rodney in the eye. “We were so worried, and it was so irresponsible and dumb and think of your father!”

“Mum!” Rodney protested. “That’s exactly what I was doing! You were the one who wasn’t letting me experiment and that’s what he would have wanted—“

“You know it’s too dangerous, do we really need to go into that again?”

“If I’d been there—“

“You would have-have…”

“Now look what you’ve done, Meredith.”

“Oh shut up, Jeannie. Just because you’re everyone’s favorite.”

John was beginning to be worried that things might become violent. He looked over his shoulder as he sidled over to Ronon and asked, “Are they gonna be all right?”

“Yeah, they fight like this all the time.” 

“I see. I don’t mean to be rude, but who are they?” John asked. He was a little relieved that no one was about to die, because that meant he was free to drool over the airplanes.

“Queen Elizabeth and Crown Princess Jeannie,” Ronon said.

“Ah. And are they… relatives of Rodney’s?”

“Yes, his mum and sister.”

John thought about that for a moment. Although Ancelstierre maintained no official embassy with the Old Kingdom, everyone knew a little about the country, and so that would mean Rodney was …Prince Meredith? It just seemed so hard to reconcile Rodney’s rude and arrogant personality with princely-ness. John decided to think of something else, like the loves of his life.

“What are those called?” he asked, pointing.

“Paperwings.”

Rodney stomped over, his face trying to scowl, but bits of happiness kept leaking through, making his mouth crooked. John smiled a little just looking at him. Queen Elizabeth and Princess Jeannie were walking behind him, wreathed in smiles.

“Apparently, a Necromancer named Kolya’s been trying to kill me, blah, blah, blah, it’s all very boring and anyway Teyla’s taking care of him. I’ve talked to my mum and she says we can figure out a way for you to stay here, but you’ll have to come back with us to Belisaere first,” Rodney said, all in one breath and all while not meeting his eyes. 

Since everyone else was hanging back respectfully, John took that moment to lift an eyebrow and say, “So, you’re Prince Meredith?”

“Ah, yes, yes, I am. Obviously, I was hoping you would never have to know that, but clearly I have no control over that because my crazy family can’t believe that I can take care of myself. Which, fine, Kolya’s insane and I never want to actually lay eyes on him, but I am the best Charter Mage around, I’m not exactly helpless. And I really hope you don’t mind that I lied to you, because really I had to protect myself because I would bring in a simply mind-boggling ransom, and—“

“I can’t say I really care, Rodney,” John said, smiling at him when he lifted his eyes. “Just so long as I get to ride in a Paperwing.”

At this, Rodney threw up his hands in disgust. “Of course you like the Paperwings! I should have known, the moment I met you, you would love those insane death traps!”

**Step Eleven: Live Happily Ever After**

They all flew back to Belisaere, where John was properly introduced to the whole family. Rodney, who was mortified at their behavior (namely when they started telling stories from his childhood), was loudly pleased when everyone decided they loved John and wanted him to stay. 

John’s title as a member of the court was Official Representative of Ancelstierre, which he thought was pretty cool because it meant he could spend all of his time dragging Rodney out in the Paperwings or getting beaten up by Teyla or Ronon. Rodney insisted that he have some magical training, which he attended supposedly half-heartedly, but secretly enjoyed. 

And then one day, John and Rodney kissed and everyone else said _finally_ , and yes, they lived Happily Ever After. (Between having hair-raising fights, of course).

**Author's Note:**

> I was rereading the Old Kingdom Trilogy and remembered this crossover I wrote for some challenge ages ago. This has been moderately edited. Orginally posted to my old livejournal and some Stargate Atlantis livejournal group.


End file.
